


Igniting Water - [1/1]

by nahemaraxe (zephyrina)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Crack, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyrina/pseuds/nahemaraxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the downsides of waking up married is having to tell your parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Igniting Water - [1/1]

**Igniting Water**  
(1,719) // (NC-17)  
Bob Bryar/Ray Toro  
One of the downsides of waking up married is having to tell your parents.  
The guys aren't mine, it never happened.  
Written for [](http://no-tags.livejournal.com/profile)[**no_tags**](http://no-tags.livejournal.com/) (formerly posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/no_tags/4861.html)), prompt 'ridiculous meet-the-parents nervousness'. Inspiration comes from [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/we_are_cities/265033.html?view=1218121#t1218121%22) at [](http://we-are-cities.livejournal.com/profile)[**we_are_cities**](http://we-are-cities.livejournal.com/). ♥ to [](http://framianne.livejournal.com/profile)[**framianne**](http://framianne.livejournal.com/) for her help and beta job. Thank you so much.

 

*

The cattle truck swerves again, coming dangerously close to Ray’s left side before going back to its lane. The driver’s either drunk or plain stupid, Ray can’t tell, but since getting crushed between the side of the truck and the guard-rail isn’t among his plans for the evening, he speeds up, anxious to leave it behind.

Twenty minutes, maybe twenty-five and he’ll be in Chicago – a relief to both his ass and legs, really. He hit the road early that day and he just stopped twice along the way to get gas and grab something to eat. The wrapping of his cheeseburger is still on the passenger seat, rolled up and stuffed into the empty coffee cup; he’ll throw all that away later – tomorrow morning, maybe. After the big flight fuckup of yesterday, Ray’s former plan had been to pick Bob up and drive all the way to Jersey in (more or less) one go, but admittedly, that had been a stupid idea. Right now he’s feeling too tired to wish for anything but their bed.

 _Old fuck_ , Ray thinks, reaching out to speed-dial Bob on his phone. The truck's headlights are in the rearview mirror now, fading in the distance, and he stares at them for a moment or two as he waits for Bob to answer.

“Hey, Toro.”

Bob’s voice fills the car after six rings, roughly the time it must have taken him to hear that silly, Christmas-y ringtone he downloaded first and then to fish his phone out from wherever it fell – Ray’s bet is on the floor between the coffee table and the couch. He smiles.

“Hey yourself. I’m almost there.”

“Good,” says Bob. “I was wondering about supper already. Feel like having pizza? What say you?”

“That you’re out of Red Bull again,” answers Ray, while Bob’s laughter fills the car. “Right?”

“Maybe, yeah. And since you don’t want me to go grocery shopping by myself…”

“Not until your wrist’s fully healed, no.”

Ray’s aware that he’s probably worrying way too much, but experience taught him that Bob can’t be trusted at all when it comes to self-preservation. The last time he assured Ray he was totally fine, he ended up dropping a can of soda on the floor right after having picked it up and-- not again, please and thanks. Making a face, Ray starts braking; gears shift as the car slows down and he moves further to his right, since his exit is fast approaching.

“Anyway. I can stop by somewhere and pick a couple of things up. Just tell me what we’re out of.”

“Uh. Toilet paper and Red Bull, mainly, but I thought you wanted to leave right away? We’re gonna reach Jersey too late then.”

“What if we sleep at home and drive there tomorrow? We’d only waste a day but whatever, really,” says Ray and lifts a hand to muffle a yawn. “The wedding’s on Saturday anyway and Christmas, uh--”

“End of next week. Let’s take it easy, yeah. Gimme a moment now.”

While Bob puts down the phone (‘tosses’ might be a more appropriate word, Ray suspects) and does something that causes some noise and a couple of _fuck_ , Ray starts looking for cash.

He kept the change he got at the fast-food just for the turnpike, lining some on the dashboard and putting the rest into the front pocket of his hoodie, and as he watches the car before him brake, he tells himself that he should really get an I-Pass. It’s an idle thought, of course. He’ll forget about it as soon as the turnpike disappears in the rearview mirror, just to curse at it next time he’ll have to drive to Chicago using his own car again. Probably it’s all about the fact that he hasn’t gotten used to it yet, to the move – and he doesn’t regret it, it just feels a bit weird to think about Illinois as home. It’s weirder than all the rest, actually, and Ray can’t hold back a chuckle.

“What are you laughing about, you dick?” asks Bob in that moment. “I had to go and save your guitar rack from your dog, just so you know.”

“My dog?”

“Nitpicker. Anyway, I’m glad. I was thinking about waiting for you at the bus stop but fuck, it’s too cold outside for that shit. Just bring your ass home, okay?”

Ray laughs. “I’m being careful, don’t worry.”

“I never said I was. Hurry up, I’m calling for pizza in the meanwhile,” replies Bob before hanging up. Stupid fuck, thinks Ray fondly as he stops by the turnpike.

*

Eating pizza led to watching a movie on the couch, watching a movie on the couch led to some lazy making out and some lazy making out led to bed, to Ray impaling himself on Bob’s dick.

It isn’t what Ray had in mind when he got home carrying a grocery bag, but it’s slow and languid and he’s enjoying it all the same, even if the first thing he said to Bob that evening was that he just wanted to sleep forever. Sleep is still there, yes, looming at the edges of his brain – and there will be time for it later. Now it’s just about them, about how it feels like having Bob thrust into him with small, shallow movements and stroke at Ray’s dick with his good hand. The other is on Ray’s thigh, not doing anything, just there, and its weight is a comforting one. Even the brace Bob needs to keep wearing has become familiar at some point.

When Ray comes, anticipating Bob of a few moments, he’s savoring all that, too, which is no less real than his orgasm or Bob’s body under him, and in a cheesy, post-coital daze, he feels happy. What they’ve got may not be perfect or flawless but whatever, to him it still feels right. Smiling a little, Ray leans over for a kiss before pulling off. Their bed isn’t that big – actually, getting a new one is on their to-do list – so he rolls to his left and stays where he is, pressed against Bob’s side. A moment later, he hears him chuckling.

“What is it?”

“Getting all touchy-feely, Toro? Didn’t think you missed me that much.”

“Ha. You wish. I just don’t want to fall on my ass.”

“Sure.”

Bob taps a finger on the sheet and for a while there’s only the even sound of their breath. If Ray listens close, he can hear the faint ticking of the corridor clock, too, or the rapping of Bauer’s paws on the tiles; he’s paying attention to the latter, picturing their dog trotting to the bowl of fresh water he put on the kitchen floor earlier that night when Bob speaks up again.

“We’ll have to tell them. At least your parents.”

“Yeah, I know,” answers Ray, sighing. That’s really something he's not looking forward to and same goes for Bob. They’ve been putting it off since Madison Square Garden, taking advantage of Bob’s surgery and subsequent therapy, not to mention the move. Technically, Ray supposes that they could still keep it under wraps if they really wanted to but well, it’s his _mom and dad_. Jesus. He rubs his eyes and props himself up, studying what little he can see of Bob’s face. Their room is partially lit up by the moon, which is a good thing since Ray doesn’t want to switch the lamp on now.

“After the initial shock, they’ll be happy about it, I guess. Your mom was, right? Sort of?”

“If with ‘sort of’ you mean that she didn’t disown me or anything, yeah, she was,” says Bob, nodding. “But she always liked you, it was just the fact that she wasn’t there that pissed her off.”

“We didn’t exactly plan it.”

“I know. It happened.”

Ray pushes a strand of hair off Bob’s eyes, tucking it behind his ear. It’s quite long again, and even if Bob said he meant to have it cut soon, he hasn’t gotten around to do it yet. Not that Ray minds; he quite likes it as it is.

“They’ll be pissed, too,” he says then, “especially my mom, but-- they’ll get over it.”

“Of course they will, and I’ll tell them that it could have been worse anyway. It could have been a tacky Vegas thing with you wearing an Elvis suit. We could have had _pictures_ of it. Dozen of pictures of a chapel filled with inflatable pink flamingos, how about that?”

“Oh my god, bad mental images. For real.”

“Yeah, don’t tell me,” says Bob. They’re both laughing at this point, and Ray knows that if they had a better light, he’d be able to see those tiny crinkles around Bob’s eyes again. He always gets them when he laughs, and Ray’s pretty sure that they were the first thing he _really_ noticed about him. He remembers he didn’t think much of Bob when they met – awesome dude who accepted to help them out, sure, but unremarkable in the physical department – until someone said something funny and voila, crinkles. If they had a better light – if Ray felt like turning around and switching the lamp on – he’d smooth them with his thumb, maybe.

“Well, if you really think that my folks are gonna be over the moon when we tell them that we were so drunk we got accidentally hitched backstage, then be my guest.”

“No need to spill every detail, Toro. And hey, accidentally or not, we’re alright, uh-huh? I mean, in the long run it’s turning out to be a good thing, I guess. That’s what matters the most.”

“You _guess_?”

“You got what I meant,” says Bob, waving a hand at him. “Don’t make me say lovesick shit now, you dick.”

Ray shakes his head. They should really have a quick shower now and then catch some sleep, but he wants to wait a bit more before getting up - enjoying the moment? It’s just that Bob is right in what he said: accidental drunken marriage or not (it’s still all Mikey’s and James’ fault and Bob’s vague threat to have their balls as keychain will stand for a while), it’s turning out to be a fucking good thing.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost (2010)


End file.
